Max Payne: Angels With Dirty Faces
by Pierre Follet
Summary: The first chapter in what will hopefully be a complete story set after the first game.


*Note* This is my first ever piece of fic. I'm a huge Max Payne fan, and with this piece i've tried to go for the melodramatic, film-noir feeling of the game's graphic novel. Please read and review :)  
  
Chapter One: Ring Of Fire  
  
I sailed through the air, unloading the last few bullets from my Beretta before landing roughly on the unforgiving floor. I'd been in this position hundreds of times, it seemed. Life boiled down to it's basic elements. Two gladiators facing off in the arena. Kill or be killed. Winner takes all. I wasn't a winner. I'd been through too much pain to make that claim. But I sure as hell wasn't gonna lose this fight. Not when i'd come this far. Before my target had time to take aim, I spun up into a kneeling position and scrambled behind a support column riddled with bullet holes, pulling a shotgun out from the folds of my trusty leather jacket as I ran.  
  
I'd had enough of playing cat and mouse. My ears were ringing with the sound of gunfire. My mind was ringing with the voices of those i'd lost. My hand was ringing a death knell, and the cold, steel shotgun was my instrument. I was a maestro with an audience of one. Soon to be zero.  
  
I snuck a look around the corner of the column, and spotted my target. That's all he was now. A target. And I wasn't going to miss. I pulled a molotov cocktail out of my pocket, lit it, and threw it over my shoulder towards where i'd seen him. As I heard the glass shatter and the air start to crackle as the flames greedily began to feed, I spun to my left and ran headlong towards the inferno.  
  
It was like running into the fires of hell, and there was Satan himself standing in the midst of his creation. This was our own personal Armageddon. His face was split into a wicked grin, as if the flames were giving him strength. I knew better. This wasn't the Beast. The only Marks on him were his tattoos, no secret 666 birthmarks. He was a man, and he could bleed. I intended to prove it.  
  
The flames formed a solid wall. The wood floor was beginning to warp and blacken under the intense heat, and I could feel my lungs complaining as I drew in burning breaths like I was drowning in a sea of living fire. It wouldn't stop me. Nothing would. I dove headfirst through the flames. I closed my eyes momentarily. I hung suspended for what seemed like an eternity before I finally emerged out the other side. The fire had cleansed me. I opened my eyes, and saw my enemy with a clarity i'd never before experienced. I was an avenging angel. He would hear my Word. The Gospel according to Payne.  
  
I took aim with my shotgun as I flew towards him. I could see the grin disappear from his face as he saw me. Up until this point the flames had obscured me, but now I was an unstoppable object. I was a bullet fired from the gun of all those who i'd loved and lost. The shotgun was an extension of my arm, as if flesh had become metal. His stunned face appeared between my sights, and I pulled the trigger.  
  
His head vanished in a red haze. I crashed to the floor, rolling away from the fire as I did so. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the smoke and flames to make a smothering, all consuming incense. I felt myself becomming dizzy. Struggling to my feet, I staggered away from the flames. The path to the door was impassable, blocked by the hungry fire. I looked around for some means of escape. The window behind me shone like a beacon, mirroring the undulating flames like a living Impressionist painting. Dropping the shotgun, I tried to pull the window open. No dice. Either the heat, or age, had warped it shut.  
  
There was only one thing left to do. What better way to end it than with a heroic dive out of a two story window? I let out a short, harsh laugh. Either my exhaustion combined with the smoke were making me delusional, or I was finally going crazy. I shuffled towards the window like an old man, but jumped through it with enough force to shatter the glass. The freefall was almost peaceful. I was free of the cloying smoke, and inhaled deeply. My lungs screamed with exhiliration at finally having pure oxygen again. Then came the impact. I landed hard in a small, pathetically insufficient hedge, before my momentum carried me out onto the sidewalk.  
  
I lay there, looking up at the night sky. The clouds had cleared, and the moonlight shone down from the heavens like a search-beam. The beam swung across from the other side of the street and then lit on me. The man in the moon was trying to find me. I laughed again, which bought a sharp flash of pain searing through my body like a lightning strike. That'd be just my luck. My mind gave in against the onslaught of pain, and my eyes drooped shut. The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead, it's drone sending me to sleep like a mother's sweet lullabye.  
  
*To be continued when I have the time* 


End file.
